


your fault, my fault

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Break Up, letter from sakusa's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's the very least you could do, after everything
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48
Collections: Anonymous





	your fault, my fault

**Author's Note:**

> rated t for swearing
> 
> there's referenced/implied cheating so take note of that

~~Atsumu~~

Miya,

  
  


I know the breakup was 3 months ago and that exactly 1 week after, we both signed with different teams. I know that we’ve both blocked each other’s numbers and removed the other from our social media accounts. I know that you’ve been having the greatest time of your life, and isn’t it great that you’re no longer tied down to just one person?

Do you want to know what I didn’t know? What you didn’t tell me?

I’ll tell you anyway.

That day when you promised me forever, you didn’t tell me that forever was just however many days it took for you to fall out of love with me. You didn’t tell me that forever was a countable noun, or that it was exactly 738 days. Why would you let me go on believing that forever was synonymous with eternity when it came to you? When it came to _us_?

I wish you would have told me earlier. Your love for me grew stale and so you threw it out, threw yourself into the throes of another hot-blooded romance, with someone new who made your heart race the way I used to. 

But what about mine? What about my love for you, of which the expiry date I'd set so far into the future I could no longer see it, no longer have to think of it? What about that? Did you consider that?

Ah, but it seems I’ve forgotten how selfish you are. 

Now I’m left here, sitting in a room that’s empty and full of you all at once, cradling a galaxy’s worth of cardiac atoms to my chest, searching up how to reverse an open chest surgery so I can shove my heart back into its cage now that you’ve decided you no longer want it. 

Now I’ll have to spend however the fuck long it takes to cut out every single piece of you that you decided to sew into my body, like it was some fucked up rendition of a patchwork quilt called “loves that shouldn’t have happened”, while I bit my lip and tried not to scream and pretended it didn’t hurt when you had to undo a stitch for the sixth time in the same spot because you had always been absolute dogshit at needlework.

Honestly, fuck you. Couldn’t you have shown a little consistency in the way you loved others, the way you love volleyball? The way you set? Maybe if you’d only treated me badly, I would have been able to set every single memory I have of you ablaze. Maybe if you’d only treated me badly, I would have been able to delete the very last photo we took together, on the last date we had before everything went to shit. 

Maybe if you’d only treated me badly, I wouldn’t still be in love with you, despite everything.

Osamu told me that you often lied. You’re a pathological liar. I’d dismissed it, thought of it as nothing more than a petty habit. Trivial. Surely, it was only about the little things. Surely, they were all white lies.

I should have listened. Paid heed to Osamu’s warning. 

Did you think I was fucking stupid? Did you think I actually believed you when you said the perfume clinging to your shirt was from a scent test you did for a gift? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that very same perfume on _her_ when you introduced _her_ to the team and claimed she was just a very good friend of yours?

Well, I did turn a blind eye to it. Pretended I couldn’t smell the perfume through my mask. So maybe I _am_ the idiot here.

Because despite all this, I’m still in love with you.

And I’ve tried—by the _gods_ I’ve tried, to get over you. To fall out of love with you. To hold nothing but hate in my heart for you. To walk by the ramen store and not have your order repeat itself in my mind. To visit the _konbini_ and not end up with your favourite drink in my basket. 

I’ve fucking tried everything, and nothing works. You plague me, haunt me, dog my every step and action. Everywhere I go, somehow, you’re there, even though I haven’t seen you since we parted ways. Since you decided that whatever you had left at my place wasn’t worth it and just told me to trash everything. 

It’s kind of funny. You didn’t even have anything of meaning left over at my place. Everything was just another necessity, a toothbrush, a T-shirt, boxers. Everything could be thrown away and not be missed. Maybe this was the universe’s way of foreshadowing, hm?

I hate you. You’ve spoiled love for me, you asshole. You scrawled your name into every single one of my dictionaries, right under the meaning of love, in black Sharpie marker, as if you were claiming it as your own.

Give me the real definition back. It’s the very least you could do, after everything.

Isn’t it funny how in the end, the one who had so much love to give was the one who turned away first? And how the one who didn’t have much to give still poured everything he had into the relationship, like a fool, even when he could see the other’s back turned to him?

I’m tired. Of loving you, of hating you, of missing you even when I see you everywhere. Of you, of myself. Of thinking about you no matter how busy I keep myself. Of how even volleyball reminds me of you. Of how the sight of a single toothbrush feels _wrong_ , still, because there isn’t another one next to it. Because you are no longer here.

I'm tired of wondering why I wasn't enough for you. Of wondering what it was that made you fall out of love with me. Of wondering what I did that pushed you into the arms of another, even when I curled up on the edge of a bed and waited for you to come home and take me into your arms.

I’m tired, Miya. You dug a hole into my chest for yourself, and you forgot to fill it up when you left and took the shovel with you. I can try to stuff everything I can find into the hole and try to fill it up myself, but nothing feels right because you, like the selfish jerk you are, dug the hole into the exact shape of your body.

In the end, it’s my fault, mostly. For loving you even when you gave me so many reasons not to. For loving you even when everyone else gave me so many reasons not to. For loving you more than you loved me.

You win this round, Miya. I’ll raise a white flag, just—

Help me put my heart back into my chest, won’t you? It’s the very least you could do, after everything.

  
  


~~Omi~~

~~Kiyoomi~~

Sakusa

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. this is self-indulgent and written mostly for catharsis.
> 
> kudos and comments are welcome and much appreciated. if you have any parts or lines you particularly liked, i'd love to know which they were.
> 
> **edited 20/11/2020**


End file.
